


One Foot in front of the Other

by azure7539



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 23:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were slowly getting there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Foot in front of the Other

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Not my best work ever, but well, it'll get better. I'm always awkward with starters. Anyway, this has only been proofread by me. Therefore, all faults are my own. However, I am looking for a beta-reader, so please feel free to contact me if you want to beta for me!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Harry Potter, since they rightfully belong to J. K. Rowling. I make no profit from writing this whatsoever.

**ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER**

* * *

He was staring outside again—eyes a little wide, body frigid and fidgeting, holding onto his fork in a vice-like grip that turned his knuckles white.

He looked like he was about to either bolt or whip out his wand and hex something,  _anything_  that moved.   
  
“Harry . . .” Hermione called, and his head snapped back to her, startled.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked, as though not registering what he had been doing all that while before she spoke up.  
  
“You’re doing it again,” she pointed out neutrally.   
  
The tension on Harry’s face crumbled. “Oh.”

Biting back a sigh, Hermione reached out in a slow, deliberate way to place a comforting hand on his own, her thumb stroking across his cold skin, and hoped that this would somehow help him relax, even for just a little bit.  
  
“The house is fully warded, we just checked it before breakfast, remember?” she reminded him. What she didn’t say was that the war was over, had been for about a month already, because Hermione knew that, at the end of the day, she herself had this similar deep-seated fear that maybe it hadn’t. Maybe this sense of peace was merely a sick trick after all, a false note of calm, an episode of madness on their part even. She experienced that fear herself.  
  
Just not as keenly as he was then demonstrating.  
  
“Of course I remember,” Harry retorted, adverting his eyes back to his barely touched plate of simple scrambled eggs and sausage, but didn’t withdraw his hand. Hermione was glad.  
  
“Then, you should remember, too, that we’ll be able to feel it should someone trip the wards.”

Harry looked up to receive a point glance from her. It took him a while, but he managed to nod and loosen his hold around his fork (she could feel his muscles work under her hand).  
  
They continued to eat in silence, and Hermione was pleased to note that he seemed to be beginning to actually taste the food he put into his mouth.   
  
“Do we have any plans for today?” Harry asked when they were on their last bites.   
  
She shook her head. “No.” Hermione knew it would take some time for him to be less agitated and calm enough to remember the miscellaneous details in their daily lives such as their plans for the day. Of course, she didn’t blame him for it because this wasn’t him being inattentive. . . . If only things were that simple, really, it would be so much easier to deal with. Anyway, until he was feeling much sounder, she would take it upon herself to ease him back into life.  
  
Not that she was that greatly better off than him, no, but it was as she had told him all those weeks back: you put one foot in front of the other to keep moving forward.

“We will be meeting up with Ron and Luna for tea, but that won’t be until tomorrow’s afternoon,” she carried on.  
  
“Oh.” He nodded, pushing a slice of sausage around in the sauce.  
  
They cleaned up not too long afterward with him washing and her drying because she had been the one to cook that morning, and because they had found that doing a few certain tasks the Muggle way was rather therapeutic for them both.  
  
His body posture was still stiff as he stood there, but it already was an improvement, she told herself and played a little with the dishcloth.   
  
Hermione counted the seconds in her mind until the next time Harry’s nervous gaze flitted back up to look at her while handing over another piece of china, as he always did these days. Like he was checking to see, to make sure, that she was there right beside him after all. Every time that happened, she would reach out, fingertips brushing against his, to take the water-dripping item and give solid reassurance at the same time, not just for him but for herself also.

That he, too, was there, and that he had, indeed, emerged from the treacherous forest alive and breathing after walking into it towards his death.  
  
Sometimes, she still woke up hearing Voldemort shout,  _“Harry Potter is dead!”_  And those words would end up haunting her for the rest of the day to come.   
  
“I’ll try to remember our plans better from now on . . .” Harry whispered quietly, the sound of running water almost drowning out his voice, but she heard every word clearly all right.  
  
Perhaps they would never be whole again, not after all they had lost.   
  
“Good,” she smiled, heart fluttering a little to see him return the gesture.   
  
But they were healing; they were slowly getting there.  
  
One foot in front of the other, it is. 

-

-

-

_End~_

* * *

 

Prompt: #46. Healing

Taken from [this](http://azure7539.livejournal.com/1373.html).

 


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